Page 19 of A Man After Midnight

Chapter Eight

The taxi dropped them in front of a tall skyscraper, a building of glass and steel that must sparkle in the sunlight. Caroline cranked her head back to look all the way up.

“Perversions is here?” she asked doubtfully.

“What were you expecting?”

“Someplace really seedy, like in a subbasement where the only way to get to it was to tell someone the password and then descend down into an elevator that had a red strobe light.”

“You have a vivid imagination,” Wren replied. “I hope reality isn’t boring for you.”

He placed a hand in the small of her back and escorted her to the doors. To get in, Wren slid a plastic key card through the security lock. Once inside, they were greeted by a security guard.

“Good evening, Mr. Calder,” he greeted.

“Hello, Charles.”

The security guard nodded at them and held open for them the inner doors. Wren nodded his thanks. They entered an elegant reception area that could belong in any type of business and Wren led her to a bank of elevators.

“Does Charles know why we’re here?” she asked, feeling slightly horrified that someone knew their destination.

“I don’t know,” Wren admitted. “I don’t know if Charles knows each business in this building. Does it matter?”

“Well, I guess it shouldn’t,” she said. “But there can’t be too many reasons why people would come here at night. Feels slightly taboo.”

“There you go, then. Seedy disguised in elegance.”

She grinned.

They traveled up to the top floor, and once again Wren used his card to allow them access. When the elevator opened, they faced a normal-looking hallway, where a large mirror showed their reflection and a table sat underneath it with a beautiful bouquet of red roses opened in bloom. The sweet fragrance lined the corridor and followed them as Wren escorted her to the only door.

He knocked and it was opened by a tall, beautiful black man, dressed impeccably in tails and white gloves. The foyer they entered boasted a white marble floor and a circular glass table that displayed more roses, their deep red a splash of color to the rather arid feel of the decor. White paneling lined the walls and curved around where the den offered lush leather couches and chairs of stark white leather. A staircase led to an enclosed second floor where a door barricaded any hint of what lay upstairs. There were no other people around.

“Good evening, Mister Calder,” the man said in a deep baritone voice. “Are you here for participation or pleasure?”

“Pleasure, James, thank you,” Wren answered.

“Very good, sir. Right this way.”

“What does participation or pleasure mean?” Caroline whispered.

“You can be the object of desire rather than the voyeur, if you wish. Do you wish?”

“No,” she replied quickly. “I’m not into someone watching me.”

“Are you into watching someone else?”

“Porn?”

“That’s such a derogatory word.”

“Yet somehow accurate. Am I right?”

“You’ll see.”

James led them past the den, down a hallway to a small room as austere as the foyer. Caroline eyed the room, which held a chaise lounge and leather recliner, a table that offered various forms of hors d'oeuvres, and several decanters of alcohol. Cut crystal glasses, lined next to delicate China plates. The utensils were silver polished to a bright shine. No expense had been spared, so it seemed.

A large window faced opposite the door, but curtains blocked the view out. As James shut the door behind them, the lights instantly dimmed.

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